Sunday, 5 February 2012

I was 9 when I first met you. Mom married again. And your
ex-wife passed away. I didn’t know what it meant to be a step-daughter.
Whenever I heard anyone say, “She is the step-daughter,” I felt it meant the
child who learns to live on the steps of her father. I wanted to and I tried to
live my life on your foot-steps. I hope I was able to.

When I was 15, you taught what high-school meant. While
mom was teaching me about menopause and sex, I was learning you and your life.
I differentiated each and every guy I met with you. Like Miranda, for me you
were the only man I knew, even though there were lots of them around me then.

When I turned 18, we started moving far away. I used to
hear you and mom discuss about your new daughter. I felt cheated, I felt
jealous. I felt murderous. I knew I was growing up, I was going through a phase
but I needed you, to help me tackle the inner evil that was drifting me away
from you. I couldn’t bear the pain of slow separation.

As I entered my 21st birthday, you were there,
smiling at me, with me, happy, cheering me up. But yet you were not there. I
could feel myself separated from you. Like a just born child, cut off from the
umbilical cord of the mother, I felt so, cutting away from you.

And then things started falling apart. I learnt what
step-daughter meant. I did everything you asked me not to. I felt broken,
shattered, and even guilty while doing everything that I promised I wouldn’t
but hoping that my mistakes will make you rescue me.

A year later, we were in the same house. I lived my own
life. You your own. Your nice little world. You, my mom and you and my mom’s
daughter.

That night, I came late. Something happened. I don’t even
remember. I just knocked on your door. I saw your eyes. You were hurt but it
wasn’t I who did it. You were hurt for other reasons. I wanted you to tell me.
You didn’t.

It’s now going to be a year. I miss you. I can’t remember
your face, I can’t remember what were the things that we promised to do. I
can’t even remember your birthday.

All I remember is the last words. It’s 1:50 AM. You were
never my father. I was never your daughter. But we shared a bond. Unspoken.
Beyond heart, soul, mind and blood.

I didn’t lose you, a year back. We lost ourselves. I miss
you but things would have remained the same, had you been alive today. And I
wish you were alive today to see that even in mistakes you are the only one I
think about. And I will still follow your steps. Coz I am your step-daughter
and you are my step-father.

Lovingly,

Your step-daughter.

I still follow your foot-steps.

The above letter is fictional and doesn't relate anyone in particular.